


golden hues

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AM - Freeform, Don't Kill Me, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, I, I'm so sorry, M/M, OT3, Shit, even - Freeform, tagging, this, why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 01:13:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4857584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sometimes she felt like the outsider. she’d watch them; the curves of their neck, soft planes of skin stretching in wide expanses over their back, hips, cheeks. she’d see the way their lips curled upward when catching each other out in a glance. she could almost see the static between them... it was too late when she realised she was just as much a part of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	golden hues

**Author's Note:**

> happy (totally not late) birthday golden hues

people didn’t think it was weird. they were the three that stuck together. demi had been at the school her whole life, but she never found anyone that she genuinely liked. she was never outwardly rude - she just preferred to walk over the flowers that her classmates put in their hair. it was at age eight when harry transferred, and she couldn’t get rid of him.

“demi! wait for me!”  
“no, harry.”

it went like that for years - harry wanting to be by her side, never getting the hint that she’d prefer to be alone. the outside story was that she’d gotten used to his presence, the real story that he’d kissed her behind a shed when they were twelve and she realised that she loved him, just a little bit.

stage right: enter louis. fourteen and fragile, he was an outcast at the new school and harry decided to adopt him into their group too. demi and louis butt heads a lot at the beginning, both vying for the attention of harry, without either of them admitting that was the reason. when louis’ parents split up while harry was away in cheshire for a wedding, they banded together and never looked back. she decided that she could make enough room in her heart to love him a little bit, too.

now nineteen, sharing a room in a dingy little flat in central london that their small amount of money could scrounge up, she often thought of leaving - not that she would show it. sometimes she felt like the outsider. she’d watch them; the curves of their neck, soft planes of skin stretching in wide expanses over their back, hips, cheeks. she’d see the way their lips curled upward when catching each other out in a glance. she could almost see the static between them.

it was too late when she realised she was just as much a part of it. 

her bags were packed and ready to go. it had taken a while to find a time when they were both out of the flat and she wasn’t with them; she’d begged off sick while they’d gone to doncaster for the day for jo’s wedding. she estimated it would take her at least a half day to pack up everything, and once she'd gotten the opportunity, she knew she couldn't pass it up. it had become unbearable lately, they'd leave absolutely no space free, and were always touching each other. they would touch her too - play with her hair, hold her hand, flick her ears and dart out of arm's reach. she couldn't take it though. not when she knew that they had something, and she wasn't a part of it. in reality, packing only took her two and a half hours. she spent most the afternoon drinking a bottle of wine (for liquid courage, of course) and paced around picking up random objects - the tacky snow globe they bought when they got drunk at 11am and decided to go to paris, the bottle of cognac harry got as an 18th present that was now a vase. she paused when she got to the fireplace. on the mantle were the two long-dead roses she got from both of them for graduation. she touched the petals, closing her eyes for a moment, remembering.

they were worried about her, that night. it was the night of graduation and she was the only one who wasn’t of age. the plan was for everyone to go out, but she didn't want them to miss out. she pushed and pushed until they gave in, because getting drunk in a park after graduation was _not_ okay.

“but we don’t want to be without you…”  
“you’ll be fine. go find someone to make out with, or something.”

when it came time for them to leave, they presented her with two red roses and proceeded to make her blush in front of the year level, because they’re assholes. she kissed them both on the cheek (which she still vehemently denies), and shooed them off to go party. once they left, she read the card: 

_”our only wish is for you to be embarrassed. we hope it worked.”_ dipshits.

it wasn’t until after she got out of the shower that night when she looked to her phone and saw a few missed calls from each, and a missed text that seemed to indicate they’d snuck into her backyard about half an hour ago. she tiptoed downstairs and through the kitchen, where she could see out the window, and immediately wished she hadn’t.

she saw them both, next to the swingset. it looked like harry had fallen over, and louis had collapsed halfway through trying to help him up. it wasn’t the position that was awkward, it was the look they were giving each other. there was nothing else outside of it, no room for any of their surrounds, and certainly no room for her. she watched for a moment, as their faces inched closer and their lips touched for the briefest of seconds. 

she hadn't meant for them to make out with _each other_.

she was shocked, yes - but mostly, she just felt lonely and embarrassed. these two people, who were closest to her, had found each other and really, it just made sense. the only place she felt like she belonged, and she was still an outsider. she felt a fissure fracture through her heart, and turned on the light to join them, pretending she hadn’t seen it. 

she still hadn’t forgotten that day, and it had become too much. before that, she really felt like a part of that. after, she was just very good at playing pretend. sometimes she felt like the outsider. she’d watch them; the curves of their neck, soft planes of skin stretching in wide expanses over their back, hips, cheeks. she’d see the way their lips curled upward when catching each other out in a glance. she could almost see the static between them. 

she kept trying to ignore the ways that they touched, the way they always managed to stay connected, the fact that there were no stories left to tell, but they always had something to talk about. they would ask her why she didn’t talk as much, and she would just tell them she was happy to watch. thinking about it was too much. she turned to pick up her bags and leave.

let it be said that they had impeccable timing - or terrible, depending on the point of view. she’d just slung the backpack over her shoulder and gone to pick up the overnight bag as the lock clicked, and she froze. a spectacularly drunk harry toppled in, and a slight more sober yet very wobbly louis came in after. 

“what’s going on?” asked louis.

she couldn’t breathe, and started muttering out a long string of apologies, before picking up the bag and trying to push past them anyway. 

“demi… no. don’t…”  
“please…”  
and finally…  
“just leave it. there will never be enough room for the three of us.”

she turned away, before she could feel a too-long, too-soft caress over the bare skin on her back. she turned, and harry reached out - a delicate touch of her neck. she looked to louis and saw the soft look in his eyes. she looked to harry, and saw the same thing. it was the look they gave each other when they were on the swingset, and it was directed at her. it was the look they gave each other that night of graduation. what was more, it was familiar. it was the look they gave her every single day. it was too late when she realised she was giving these things back, too. she was just as much a part of it, she always had been and she’d never even realised.


End file.
